Start Speaking by Saying
by TheGodmother2
Summary: Longmire, post season 3, with Walt and Vic trying to figure out the slow hot burn between them. #LongLiveLongmire
1. Chapter 1

**_This next story is a departure from my norm. I am posting the entire story in one offering, a-la-Netflix style. Netflix usually releases all of their original content episodes at once and I admit that I binge watch all of them and plan on doing the same for our Longmire! So, whether you pace yourself or read it all at once I look forward to reading your reviews and absorbing your feedback. I can't wait for Season 4 like all of you. #LongLiveLongmire_**

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The owl stares at me with expectations, expectations of acknowledgement and respect. I have both and I do both but there is not an outward expression of either as I stare into his luminous omniscient eyes. Instead, I turn, reacting to the distinct sound of a shotgun; too loud for a sidearm and without the distinguishable echo of a rifle.

Without witness, the owl takes silent flight as I inwardly repeat the refrain that I am no longer afraid of death even if it is my own. My resolution has freed me. Jacob Nighthorse will answer for his sins: dead or alive.

Shifting the Bronco into gear, I look back at our cabin; the cabin Martha and I shared knowing this may be the last time.

Rage like mine, it never tempers, you see. It just boils hotter until the molten of emotions spill over. You are here with me, watching my tipping point. I can barely contain the pulses of energy, as I will the Bronco harder and faster down the highway, can you feel it too? My left leg bounces unwittingly in harmony with my fingers as they tighten and release around the steering wheel. My teeth clench, my jaw tightens, and I press harder on the accelerator scorching the miles on the desolate abandoned Wyoming highway.

"Walt, you there?"

Her voice breaks my concentration for just a moment as I choose to ignore the arcane magnetism. I reach down and with one simple turn of the knob, I shut her, and the rest of the world out. The worn stained leather covering my foot stretches as it eases off the pedal about a ¼ mile from the exit to the construction site and the Bronco slows to a reasonable pace entering the roadway. Taking in my surroundings, I am more determined than ever to end this, finally.

The 4x4 crawls to a determined stop and I note the surveillance cameras, the high points, putting four extra magazines in my coat pocket before palming my rifle. My hand molds into the frame and the rifle falls gently along my left side while I walk casually but purposefully into the business office.

The secretary, a ringer for a late 1940's brunette from central casting, is the first to see me as she frantically buzzes under her desk. She is a cross between Gloria Graham and Rita Hayworth. I think, what she is doing mixed up with Nighthorse, but I know the answer.

"Sheriff"

"Where's Nighthorse? I'm not going to ask twice."

Before she can purse her candy colored lips, Malachi sweeps around the corner with two of his henchmen. They answered the same ad for the casting call.

"What do you want Longfinger?"

He sticks his crooked finger into my chest but I don't give him a chance to open his mouth again as I bring the butt of the rifle up and catch him square in the jaw with the wood stock. He drops like a sack of potatoes as number two throws a punch that glances off of my temple. I strike the pigeon toed heavy in the gut with a short power stroke of the rifle butt. Side stepping, I slide the barrel between my thumb and index finger, rotate my hips, step forward, and bunt into the neck of number three.

The three stooges lay on the expensive Italian marble in a heap of flesh. The secretary is shivering too terrified to move.

"Where is he?" My breath is rapid but my voice is cold and steady.

Her lips quiver, "Sheriff, he's not here. I swear. I don't know where he is."

"Tell me the truth."

"I am. He left over an hour ago. I honestly don't know where he is."

"Call him." It's an order, not a request.

She doesn't answer me, she doesn't hesitate, she dials his number so fast I'm surprised the phone could keep up.

"It went to voicemail."

"Try it again." I point to her as I walk into Nighthorse's elaborate and ostentatious office replete with the crow feathers that nearly killed Branch and most certainly were involved in Martha's murder adding more gasoline to my raging internal inferno.

I turn back to face her, she holds up the phone, "Listen for yourself, he's not answering."

Nighthorse's slow and deliberate cadence echoes in my ear. I hang up the phone, "Write down his number." She complies and I walk through the other offices. Nighthorse is nowhere in sight.

I scramble back to the Bronco and spin toward the highway heading towards Nighthorse's house. My teeth grind and I shake my head as I pull the Bronco to the side of the road. Despite the overflowing volcano, burning deep inside I will not kill the bastard in front of his family. My eyes catch the colorless pattern forming across the bridge of my knuckles as the blood dissipates with the frozen clench I have on the steering wheel. My fingers peel apart and my palms strike the edge of the steering wheel, they strike harder and harder, the anger flooding from my body.

Looking down at the redness filling my throbbing palms, I flex my fingers surreally suppressing the small quiet voice inside beginning to plea. If you listen for a moment, shhhhh, you can hear him, too.

Pulling the shakily scribbled telephone number scrawled on the paper by the large eyed secretary I start to formulate my next step. I need to make a telephone call.


	2. Chapter 2

I turn onto Main Street but can't park because of the onslaught of media lining the front of the station. What is going on in my town? I turn on the radio.

"Ruby you there?"

"No, it's me, Walt, where the hell have you been?"

"I'm here now."

"You'll never make it in here."

"Meet me in back"

"Copy that"

My strides lengthen as I approach the back alley door which swings open to reveal Vic's features set in stone.

She quietly yells at me with her finger pointing at my chest, her hip jutted out, "Walt, where the fuck have you been? All hell has broken loose!" Her finger giving way to her outstretched arm pointing to the unseen crowd on the other side of the building.

"I can see that." My hands fall naturally to my hips, gripping my sidearm and my magazines, respectively.

"Walt, I need you to promise me you won't overreact. I need you to be focused."

I don't say anything. Just nod my head the way I do.

She hesitates but spits it out, "Branch's dad tried to kill him."

"What?" My right foot falls forward as I lean on my hip staring at the angry brown eyes.

Her eyes are a little softer but still firm. She leans toward the backdoor putting herself between the building and me. "They were out shooting trap and Barlow admitted he was behind the plot to kill Martha…."

Everything pretty much goes black in my head. I can see Vic's animated features as she continues talking. I know she is explaining something I need to hear but my brain cannot quite catch up to her or what she is saying. Auditory exclusion, that's how Grossman explains it, and I'm experiencing it. The tips of her fingers land on my leather clad forearm offering a hesitant bit of compassion. Barlow is behind Martha's murder?

Vic's lips stop moving and we stare at each other as I ask her, "Tell it to me again," cueing my brain and my ears to listen and comprehend.

I catch up during the second rendition and hear, "Branch was gonna bring his dad in, Walt, but Barlow got a shot off."

"And?"

"It just grazed him. A sixteenth of an inch over and the buckshot would have taken out his head. He just had a couple of pellets slide by his thick ass head. Physically, he will be ok. Branch drug his dad into the station and Barlow is sitting in our jail right now, Walt. I don't know for sure how the press found out but they know and we have to deal with it."

"Branch is in there?" My hand glides through the air, my thumb juts out, pointing toward the Sheriff's office.

"Yeah, he won't go to the hospital until he sees you." She pauses, "You mind telling me where you've been?"

Vic clinches her jaw; her voice remains low but firm, wrapped in a gentleness that makes her uniquely her.

My mind is spinning, syncing the pieces, and stitching them together. Stepping closer, I move my hands from my hips, not answering her question because telling her about my final goodbye to Martha in a back alley is, well, it's just wrong. I step past her and open the back door waiting for her to step through the threshold in front of me. My hand falls naturally to her lower back as it has for the past year but this time she stops short. She turns into me, her hand on my arm, "Listen, Walt, I know you have gone through," she waits, her eyes train on mine, she continues emphasizing the present, "are going through a shit storm right now but Branch's dad tried to kill him after he tried to put him in custody for his involvement in Martha's murder. You need to remember that part of the story."

She takes one step toward me, her hand lands gently on my chest like she's sad she has to say it, "I'm really sorry, Walt. I mean it."

I know she means it just as I know there is more in her eyes than anger or sympathy.

The inside of the office is eerily quiet except for the loud hum of strangers on the street permeating the brick facade like cackles of geese. We haven't had this kind of activity since Sean's oil company brought the attention of the environmentalists. Even then, I ignored the thoughts I held about Sean and Vic being a mixed matched couple. Vic protecting her husband and not the other way around but today I cannot allow those thoughts to penetrate the surface of my conscious thought. There is too much at stake, too much for me, for her, and too much for Branch.

Ruby stands up from her desk and I can see the redness, her cheeks still damp from her tears, she touches my arm, softly, "Walter," is all she can muster. My lips fold into my mouth and let out with the smack of my teeth as my head slightly bobs up and down serving as tacit acknowledgement of our shared pain.

"Sheriff"

Ferg stands up, nearly at attention, and looks to me for guidance, my hand lands on his shoulder expressing the simplest measure of appreciation.

Branch is sitting at his old desk; the blood caked on his ear, his tears mixing with the blood and dirt making red clay on his face. He is staring out of the window at the posse of reporters eager for an exclusive.

Not long ago he attacked Vic just a few feet away and he and I had to tangle over this very desk. I was convinced he would have killed Vic that day and my fears only grew worse after he stole Travis' car hell bent on finding David Ridges. Standing here looking at him he seems so small and I am reminded of my head wound after counting coup with the painted dog soldier. The blood caked on my head, the raging headache, the pain in my ear and the comforting and unexpected touch of Vic soothing the pain away. She has become so familiar to me that I didn't notice she was so close, her body folded into me, touching me. My imagination blended into reality for a single moment in space and time that afternoon at the Red Pony.

Barlow is sitting silently in his cell. I turn back to Branch, "Branch," as my upper body twists to face him, my hands on my hips, my teeth clenched, my jaw set.

He looks over at me as a single trail of water flows down his cheeks.

"Walt", his Adam's apple slides up and seems to get stuck on it's way down and stops short; stopping any other words from his lips, but words aren't necessary right now. His pain is visceral. I look over at Barlow, sitting and staring at nothing, like he is already dead inside.

"He set all the wheels in motion, Walt. He's responsible for your wife's murder. I'm so sorry, Walt." The tears flow as a steady stream while he looks at me with every ounce of sincerity he can muster. I can't really explain to you how I feel right now except that I am numb, not really able to comprehend everything that is happening, that is being said to me.

"How is Nighthorse mixed up in this?"

"My dad paid him fifty-thousand dollars for the services of David Ridges because Nighthorse wouldn't do it himself."

My mind is putting the pieces together, Ridges goes to Denver and kicks down $800 to Miller Beck. For Beck, $800 might as well be a million dollars, and Beck stabs Martha and kills her. Ridges then kills Beck to silence the only witness to the crime. A crime conspiracy that would have remained a secret had Branch not found Ridges' fingerprint on Cady's tire. As the pieces click, turn, and fold into place I turn to Barlow.

"You hate me that much, Barlow that you would kill my wife and try to kill my child?" The words don't come out loudly they come out as cold pressed steel.

He looks over at me, acknowledging my presence for the first time, but he remains silent as his eyes shift toward Branch, then back at me, "I hate you and every pathetic excuse you stand for Longmire."

His eyes are cold. "You don't deserve this office, your family didn't build this land, build this state, and you don't deserve any of it. I've always hated you and your kind pushing your tentacles into my son. A son whose blood reaches back over a hundred years in this county who never should have lost an election to the likes of you."

"You killed my wife because of this badge, Barlow?" I feel weightless. My body is suspended in air. I'm going to kill him.

I watch myself turn and reach into Ferg's desk, taking out the jail key, inserting it into the lock. I feel the hands on my body. Someone is pulling my jacket. I see their mouths moving but I don't hear anything. Ruby's soft hands are on my face, and she is looking at me, her intense blue eyes are penetrating mine. "Walter, son, let justice be your weapon. Don't hurt him this way."

"Walt!" Vic's voice finally penetrates and I turn towards her and for the first time since I've known her I see panic and fear in her features. She didn't look like this even with a gun to her head but she looks terrified at this moment.

Her hand covers mine, and she slowly and quietly says my name. I look down at her hand and re-holster my Colt. I don't remember pulling my gun in the first place.

Ferg releases his grip from my shoulders and just as slowly I look at Branch, his face is blank like he can't believe the events unfolding before him. I capture Vic's stare, her brown eyes wide, and I turn back toward my office pushing the door closed behind me and I rush out of the private door. I scramble down the backstairs and hear light footsteps quickly approaching behind me. She catches up with me, pulling my coat sleeve, "Walt, wait." Her words come out like a bark. I stop, my palms press against the back door, halting her progress.

As I face her, pinning her against the brick building, I ask, "How do I explain to my child that her mother died at the hands of pure unmotivated evil? "

Her eyes search mine, they are filled with all the things I need but neither of us can say, "I don't know." She says as her hands rest ever so slightly on the open button of my shirt.

She steps into me, our bodies just short of touching completely, "I need you to promise me you won't do anything to jeopardize the case. I can't imagine what you are feeling right now but we have to look past this moment, Walt."

I hang on to the we in her words as I nod in agreement and walk away from her making my way to the Bronco. I struggle to find the right way to talk to Cady while I drive to meet her. I can't have her at the station, not with Branch and Barlow there and certainly not with the media there. I need time alone with my daughter.


	3. Chapter 3

I stumble as I tell her the whole conspiracy and the senseless need for her mom's death. She falls into my arms and I become her source of strength. My arms envelope her quivering body feeling the weight lifting off her shoulders but the grief descends heavily upon her.

"Cady, I promise it will be okay." I whisper into her ear just as I did when she was a little girl with a bruised knee or a skinned elbow. "I'll always be here, punk."

Her fingers sink into my flesh as her tears soak through to my skin.

I stand in silence holding my daughter thinking of how close I was to denying myself a future with her, with my friends all in the name of revenge.

We sit on the knoll for a while visiting with Martha and with each other.

"What are we going to do?"

I pause before answering her, taking her hands in mine, "We are going to go through this together, Cady and we are going to let the system administer justice. It's what we have to do."

"Dad, don't shut me out."

"I won't." I look into her intense eyes, "I promise."

I start, the entire truth follows, "Earlier today, I spread your mom's ashes right here at this very spot. I vowed revenge and I asked her to forgive me because I wanted to kill Nighthorse but standing here, looking at you, I realize that revenge comes in different forms."

"What do you mean?"

"Prison will kill a man like him."

She looks at me, studying my face, "Cady, I needed to say good bye to your mom alone. I hope you understand."

Nodding her head, her red hair falling forward in her face, "Of course, I understand. I have been waiting for you to say good-bye to mom. I made peace a long time ago. It's something I will never get over but I had to accept she was gone or I would have lost myself." She looks up, "but I need to ask you to understand something."

I wait for her, "I need you to begin thinking about me. This isn't just about you and Mom. It's about me too." I nod.

"You're right"

Her eyes are still there, looking at me, not flinching, "I want to see Branch. I want to be there for him, Dad. After everything, I think he will need me more than ever but I need you to be ok with it."

"Only if you think it's the right thing to do."

"I do"

"Your mom would have thought the same."

We hug each other once more. The assurance that we have each other transcends any words that will ever pass between us.

That's how it is as time elapses not halting to our lives, our hopes or our dreams. The year goes by with plea bargains and faceless prosecutors as the wagons of my family circle closer and tighter. The lapse of time has allowed the department to rebuild, as well as can be expected. In the end, Branch sold his holdings after six months of intensive therapy and moved to Denver for a fresh start. It would be damn near impossible for him to continue to live here in Durant, small town, big mouths, and a name that once stood for much more than multiple homicides.

Ruby placed an ad in the government jobs website after Human Resources approved my request to fill Branch's position. In the meantime, Ferg and me rotate for coverage with Vic coming in for a cover shift splitting the late afternoon with me and the busier part of the night with Ferg. The winter weather is true to form in that it helps slow down crime with the exception of Christmas. Families fight at Christmas. Never could explain it, Jesus's birth and all, but the combination of close quarters, alcohol, and distant relatives is like oxygen, fuel, and a spark. You got fire.

We made it through though and with the flip of a calendar page have started the new year with an uneventful frozen night. So it goes this afternoon, as I turn another page of _No Country for Old Men, _which at times feels like McCarthy is the only man who understands my life, my thoughts, or my dreams. Heavy boots on the entry steps interrupt my train of thought as my eyes lift off of the page, making mental note of my place, I peer out into the office bay, past Vic and up toward Drew Jackson. Drew stops short of the half-door, next to the coat rack, and tips his hat toward Vic before peeling it off of his full head of bronze hair.

"Ma'am"

She barks back like I expect but not quite as sharp as usual, "Deputy Moretti, can I help you?"

Drew peels off his scarf revealing his golden star over his heart and whips the scarf in with his hat hanging them on the coat rack. Vic makes her way toward Drew, puts her hand out, obviously seeing the star,

"Hi, I'm Vic, you here to see Walt?"

Drew takes her hand, "Vic." Her name lingers there, "nice to meet you." He holds her hand for a beat longer, "Drew."

I haven't seen Drew in a long time and my memory is like yours it plays tricks on me because I don't remember Drew being as tall as me and I certainly didn't remember what a striking figure he cut in person. He could be the long lost younger brother of Sam Shepard. He's always lived in Carbon County; close enough to Denver and Provo to make him equal part sophisticate and renegade.

Walking toward him, I stop just behind Vic, reaching out my hand and brushing past her ever so slightly with my open palm all but forcing him to release hers, "Drew."

"Walt."

He shakes my hand with a firm grip, two old friends saying hello.

"What brings you up to this part of the state?"

My hands fall to my hips and it instantly occurs to me that I'm sizing him up and I think maybe he's doing the same.

"Ruby will be glad to see you. How long has it been?" I say.

"Oh 'bout five years I think."

It's then I remember he was at Martha's funeral. He seems to remember at the same time and our eyes fall off of each other toward the floor.

Vic steps aside and lands back at her desk and I point Drew toward my office.

"Hey, Walt anyway I can trouble you for a cup of hot coffee. Sure is cold out there."

"I'll get it." Vic is up and moving toward the coffee pot.

Drew's eyes follow her as she passes him and starts filling the pot with water. His eyes don't linger though and it's only once he passes the threshold that Vic turns her head back and watches him into my office. My stomach tinges and I remind it it doesn't have a right to.

"Walt, I'm following up on a lead for a missing person and I thought I would stop in, you know as a courtesy to let you know I'm here. I'm not interested in traipsing through your county without your knowledge and well without your permission if you will."

"Someone important I take it?"

"Yeah, you can say that. It's Aaron Vogel of the Vogel Gas and Oil family."

"Wyoming royalty you mean."

He drops his head, purses his lips as if he is holding back a bit of sarcasm. When he looks up he reveals a smile full of perfect teeth. He looked the same nearly 30 years ago when we faced each other in the state football championship.

"Many consider them that you could say."

I lean forward on my desk, moving _Old Men _into my desk drawer,

"How can I help you, Drew?"

"Well, I gotta lead that places Aaron in your county. Seems he's got mixed up in some sort of identity theft ring. I can't figure a kid with that kind of money wantin' to steal someone else's but there's no tellin' anymore, Walt."

"Yup, you're right about that."

Vic walks in with steaming hot cup of coffee and places it in front of me. She turns her head toward Drew, "I wasn't sure what you like in your coffee."

Her hand falls to her hip and I hold the hot cup to my lips and blow the steam as I look up at her smiling at Drew.

"Just black would be great." He smiles and she blesses him with hers.

Vic comes back with another cup of hot coffee and hands it to Drew.

Drew takes a careful sip and purses his full lips, "Mmm that hits the spot."

"Thank you." Drew smiles that smile again, "Vic" He says as she looks at her over his cup.

A hint of a smile passes Vic's lips as she walks back toward her desk.

She throws out, "You're welcome," as she closes my door behind her on the way out.

Everyone flirts. Vic's words spin in my head as I reassess.

"You always were lucky Walt."

I shift in my chair. I can feel my leg bounce a bit, you know the way it does when I get anxious. One of my tells.

I don't respond but Drew throws his line out just a bit farther as he reaches for more, "Your deputy," his thumb points back over his shoulder, "makes a mean cup of Joe."

"She's a good cop." It's a statement. A firm one.

"I would expect nothing less."

I nod and this time my lips purse before I take another sip of coffee.

"She married? I didn't see a ring but nowadays that doesn't mean what it used to."

"Are you?"

"What, married?" He laughs, "Hell, no."

My eyes don't leave his.

"Like I said before, Walt, not all of us are lucky like you. Never found the right woman and settled down. It doesn't mean I stopped lookin' though."

Drew's hazel eyes shine intensely as he holds up his leather clad notebook silently acknowledging that I didn't answer his question, "Walt, I need help getting a search warrant signed in your county but more importantly I will need some help going through the computer files once we seize them."

"You aren't going to send them to Cheyenne?"

"Yeah, but only after I get a look."

He holds his head down, looking into his cup, and then his eyes flash back at me, "Honestly, Walt I would rather turn this over to the Feds for interstate violations for the wire transfers and such but I need to give them something for them to take this case and I don't want to wait for Cheyenne. If it isn't terrorism the Feds aren't so quick to jump on a case anymore."

I remain silent as I think about the Connally name and all the weight that a significant Wyoming name can bear down on a man, on a sheriff, in a small town.

"You need to throw them a bone to get their attention first."

"Bingo." His index finger shoots back at me confirming I hit the target.

I stand and Drew follows suit, opening my door, "Vic," I point with my thumb over my shoulder, "Drew is going to need some help getting a search warrant. He's working an identity theft case and it looks like the suspect is in Durant." I can feel my hands fall to their natural position of authority, my left on my magazines and my right on the butt of my Colt.

Her eyes look more brilliant brown than ever before as she acknowledges me. "Ok."

"Thanks."

Glancing back at Drew he holds a closed lip smile in Vic's direction before pressing the coffee cup to his lips.

"Thanks again for the coffee. It's good."

"I'm gonna need some info." She's all business.

Drew pulls up a chair next to Vic and the two start working. It's that way until Ferg comes in to relieve me. I catch him up to speed before heading out.

"Hey Walt, can my county budget afford that hotel across the street?"

I turn, looking up at the brim of my hat before landing my eyes on him, "Nope."

Pausing to think for a moment I can't help but capture Vic's smile in my mind, "You can flop at my cabin. Nothing fancy but it will keep the rain off your head."

"Thanks, Walt. I appreciate that."

"The Ferg can show you the way out there later."

"Walt, I can show Drew after my shift. It's not a problem."

"Ah, well…I was…."

Drew cuts me off, "I was hoping your deputy would have dinner with me," He looks over at Vic, "and if you don't mind Vic, maybe I can just follow you out to Walt's place afterward? Consider it a professional courtesy." He gives her his full smile.

If I didn't know better, I would swear she is blushing, her head is down and she tucks her golden locks behind her ears as she glances in my direction for guidance.

"Sure," she says.

He makes quick work, I envy him that so I nod and out of habit or good manners I smile and offer a small wave as I spin on my heels heading out the door and toward my solitary life. My gun and my badge my only companions.


	4. Chapter 4

It is decidedly dark, decidedly late, and I'm decidedly pissed off when the double set of headlights broach my property line. Really, do I need to explain to you my sense of frustration with myself and this situation before we move forward with this chapter of my story? I hope not. By now, you should know I have spent the past year vacillating. So many times I have wanted to ask Vic for more, more than just friendship but each time I stymie myself. I stop before I start and that hesitation, which is predicated on so many valid reasons, leaves me here tonight in my boxers pacing.

I'm satisfying all the rules for being a fool. Pinning a note I scribbled about an hour ago to the unlocked front door. The note simply says, "Drew, it's unlocked, make yourself at home." It's simple and to the point but not necessarily heartfelt. Truthfully, I am not upset at Vic or Drew I am the real culprit in my dismay.

The next morning to my surprise Drew is awake.

"Mornin' thanks for the use of the couch, Walt. Mind if I shower real quick before headin' out?"

"Not at all. I laid some fresh towels out for you."

"I'll make it quick and have a cup of coffee with you and follow you into town if that's ok."

"Yup"

"Thanks, partner."

Like asking Vic to dinner, Drew makes quick work with me, over coffee.

"Walt, that Deputy of yours is something else."

I just look but don't comment. He continues.

"Walt, you and me, we go back a long time and we are friends." It's more a question there at the end.

"We are." The question was answered with another.

"You run a tight ship, brother, and I don't want to tread on anything that belongs to you so to speak. I am very interested in seeing Vic again, you know outside of work, but I don't want to upset your apple cart."

My sip of coffee is deliberate. "Are you asking my permission?"

"No, not your permission, really. She talked a lot about you last night but she wasn't real clear and damn it Walt, I respect you, and I don't want to be a source of friction."

"Vic is free to do what she wants." Not answering his question.

He looks at me, his hazel eyes full of curiosity, his voice a little deeper, "She did the same thing. Didn't really answer any questions about you. Kinda left it out there for my interpretation."

I study his face for a moment.

He looks a little deeper searching for answers that will never come because there aren't any to give.

"Well, that's that I guess."

"Yup."

"Let's hope the judge woke up on the right side of the bed this morning. Ok, if Vic comes with me to serve the warrant?"

"Yup."

Drew lifts the coffee cup up to his lips and says, "Thanks" before taking a sip. His eyes linger just a bit then down to his cup.

Late that afternoon, my office door closes and the sound forces my head up to face Vic's quick guarded movements, her attempt at aloofness that doesn't pitch quite right; leg jutted out, arms crossed, mouth twisted, not quite sure she should say what's on her mind but she's going with it anyway.

"So, your friend Drew is an interesting guy."

I look away taking an unusual interest in the blinds covering the windows.

"Last night was just dinner Walt," she says as my eyes concentrate on the blinds. My fingers perch on my desk, the others stroke my face as I interweave the connection and once again find myself at a crossroads.

"Vic, really, this isn't any of my business, you know." I say as my fingers drum roll once. I give my best smile and the same fingers fan out bracing my desk but I'm not convinced at my words and neither is she.

"It should be."

"I know"

"Are we going to talk about it"

"It?"

"Yes, it."

I lean forward and run my free hand through my hair smoothing down my wayward locks with the pat of my palm.

"Vic, I don't think it's my place to interfere."

"You never do."

"I want to. Would you believe that?" Her head tilts sideways and she sweeps her hair away.

Rising, my hands are on my hips, she meets me half-way. There aren't any words we are just here, just us, facing each other. I know you want this to be the moment. I want this to be the moment, too. It's not.

"Vic," my hand traverses lightly down her arm, "It's not that I don't think about it." I pause on the it. My eyes lock on hers and its quiet. I hold her at her elbows my palms half on her flesh and half on her uniform shirt.

"I think about you,"I say as my thumb circles her pulse point in her elbow.

I feel her hands move to my hips. We are natural as rain, us, standing here.

My voice is soft, she tilts her velvet eyes and they are clouded over, misty, and waiting. I don't remember, as I tell you this, when or how I knew the time was wrong but I did and I do as I lean forward and instead of kissing her sweet lips I mutter, "I'm sorry," as the tips of her fingers land in the open space of my shirt. I still feel them there when I think about it.

She shakes her head, quietly understanding, and as she pulls away her fingers trace over mine. That's how we leave it. The distance between us widens, though she is just in the other room. Not another word is spoken about it and as the months pass Drew becomes a frequent visitor to my county. On those days, when I know he is in town I make myself scarce. Today is one of those days.

Driving through Durant, I reacquaint myself with familiar fixtures, returning friendly waves and infrequent smiles, putting distance between my heart and my head.

Vic's voice cracks the silence, "Ruby, I'm at the Dixon ranch."

"Copy, Vic."

"What you got, Vic?"

"Family disturbance."

I spin the Bronco around and head toward the Dixon ranch. Not sure what to think of Ruby for not broadcasting the call, not sending me, and for Vic going alone.

The desolate road leads me to old Mazie Dixon's ranch. My dad used to help old Mazie from time to time. Usually when he was running short of hands and needed some work on his horses or livestock. He's always been old, had his only child when he was damn near 60, good for him I guess.

The white truck is perched in front of the main house with the Absaroka County star emblazoned on the side and it's fierce deputy talking to Old' Mazie out front.

"Mazie"

"Walter Longmire is that you?"

"Yup," the old man swayed to a slow rhythm in his rocking chair. The wind chimes bouncing off of each other reminding those in ear shot they were still alive. I take my place next to Vic careful not to take over her line of questioning.

"What brings you to these parts?"

"Just checking on my constituency."

"Ha, I suppose that's right. I did vote for ya."

"Thanks for your vote." I put my foot on the step, lean my hands into my hips, my jacket rests on the blade of my hand. I look over at Vic and back to Mazie. She is beautiful. It's a declaration.

"How you doin' Maze?" Conveniently taking the "I" out of his name.

"Fair to midland. You know since Suz died well I get on if that's what you mean."

"Suppose"

"Get on, yeah." He seemed to trail off a bit remembering the good times of the past but the chimes kicked up and he looked back at me.

Vic closes the distance between us, her shoulder splitting me in half, "Got a call from the grand-daughter. Apparently her father is a drunk and an asshole. Just dumped her here and took off." We haven't been this close to each other since she cleaned the blood from my brow. I miss her. The words stay in my head.

"Young Mazie ever get here to see you?"

"He's down in Denver. Practicin' law. He's a lawyer." He tells me like I couldn't put it together in my own mind but he's gentle with his clarification.

I nod my head. Clearly, he knows young Mazie isn't worth a damn.

The wood creaks under the weight of the feet bearing Lila Mae. She swings the wood screened door open, "Hey Sheriff."

"Lila Mae." My fingers pinch the brim of my hat. A habit forged from manners and respect.

"Sheriff I don't want no trouble."

"Says he's checking on his constituency." Old Mazie, laughs out loud and slaps his thigh at the thought.

I softly smile, "I am."

"I'm sorry I called but my daddy's gone now. It's ok."

"You gonna stay with your grand-dad." I say, acting like its normal for your Dad to abandon you at your widowed grand-father's ranch.

"For a while, I guess"

"How's school?"

"k"

"Still goin?"

"Yeah"

"Get's her brains from her daddy. Don't let her fool ya' Sheriff. Straight A's. Straight smart is my Lila Mae." I look over at Vic for her approval at the turn of the conversation.

"Thanks, gramps." She kisses Old Mazie's forehead, swipes the edges of her hair back in a quick motion careful not to get the sleeve of her oversized sweatshirt in the way, and saunters back in the paint chipped house. Vic follows her stepping past ol' Mazie who doesn't bat an eye.

"How's your girl, there, Sheriff."

"Lawyerin"

He slaps his thigh again, "I'll be, durn. Lawyerin'."

"Living, too," I say. Thinking of her commitment to move on past the darkness. The darkness that holds me tight.

Old Mazie's eyebrows wrinkle like a caterpillar, eyes bright, "Livin." He smiles, "That's the ticket."

"If young Mazie comes back, call me, hear?"

"Hear ya' Sheriff. Hear ya."

"ok that Lila Mae is staying here with you?"

"Yes, yes indeed."

Vic nods on her way out letting me know everything checks ok in the house. It's that unspoken rhythm we have. The rhythm I have come to depend on for so many reasons not the least of which is my survival.

Vic moves past me and swings open the door to her pickup, "Sorry, you were drug out here, I could have handled this since you were taking off early." I offer with a slight smile.

"I still have a job to do, Walt." The blade of her hand faces me as she blocks the descending sun from her eyes. The hint of light seeping through illuminates her eyes making them more omniscient that usual.

I nod, my head swinging back toward the house,"She remind you of anyone?" I say kinda soft.

She looks at me, thinking, she knows but doesn't let on all the way, "Maybe." Her voice has a hint of tease and a hint of shyness like she is remembering.

I smile thinking that was Vic at that age. Strong, smart, stubborn, and the beginning of a long line of men she could wrap around her finger.

"All she needs is acceptance and love, right?" The words are just as soft as before but I'm smiling as I say them.

It's her turn to smile and she does, that quick, you're an asshole for remembering look but there is a drop of sadness as she turns back toward her truck and instantly I know in my soul that that's all she really wants it never was about anything else.

My eyes follow her as she hops into the cab of her truck. I catch the door before she closes it shut, lean in, either hand bracing against the door of the frame, and I kiss her. There's nothing unsure about it as she kisses me back. This may not be something I planned but it is something I want, have wanted, and feeling her in my mouth for the first time, she has wanted it too for a very long time.


	5. Chapter 5

The rocks kick up from the fresh tread on the new snow tires pinging against the metal panels of the Bronco. I pause as Vic parks her truck in the marked stall next to mine in front of the station.

My hands find refuge in my coat pockets as I stand facing her, on the sidewalk, the remaining low afternoon light warming my back.

"Vic."

"Not here." Her voice is quiet but confident.

"Listen, Vic."

She stops for a moment before passing by and says, "Drew asked me to move to Carbon County." She's past me, inside of the station, and out of my sight.

I scramble but pause outside of the door; my thighs pushing open the half-door, entering the bay, thinking what is it with men wanting her to leave.

Ruby is typing her reports and Vic is at the filing cabinet. I stop and stand next to her, not because I want to, more like the compulsion to be near her nearly consume me.

"Are you leaving me?" I say as a whisper, my lips barely parting. Her eyes pop open wide noticing my words.

"I don't know am I?" She's sarcastic in that defensive way she gets when the cracks in her armor begin to display vulnerability.

"You love him?" even quieter I ask.

"This isn't about love, Walt."

"Should be."

"It isn't"

I circle and move a little closer, as she brushes past me and into my office. I turn to follow and hold the knob in my hands as I close my door. The space between us feels vast but it's not, not really. The drops of natural light fall into the office, "I'm sorry, " I say as I rest my hand on her cheek really feeling her tender soft skin for the first time.

"I know." She pauses, "They have an open spot at Rawlins P.D., Chief Palmer is holding it for me."

"Vic, I won't stop you from leaving." Her eyes flash. "I won't stop you but I will ask you not to go."

"We've been, not been, down this road before."

"It's about love."

"What are you saying?" Her eyes moving back and forth looking for any deception and waiting for hesitation of which I have neither.

"I'm saying it's about us." I'm standing close to her and she smells good. I've avoided this for so long but now that it's here it feels right.

I lean forward. I stop, taking in the sight of her, "I want to try, Vic."

She presses her hand to my cheek, her fingertips landing on the bareness of my skin, "Walt, I think it's too late for this. Whatever this is."

"Vic, you don't love him." My voice doesn't reflect the desperation that I feel.

"I don't. I've tried love before Walt and it didn't work out too well."

"The person you marry isn't the same person you divorce, Vic."

"I'm not talking about Sean." She says with a hint of pensiveness.

My hand is on her hip, and my desire to be inside of her is incomprehensible, my lips are so close that my eyes can't focus, "I'm still here," is all I can say before my tongue presses forward. I feel her hands on my back first, then her fingers through my hair, and just before they press against my ears, I hear moaning seeping from her parted lips and it nearly pushes me over the edge. The edge that we ignore, the one we suppress, the one she has me on all of the time.

Her belt buckle presses against the unmistakable hardness of my flesh but it doesn't deter my desire for her it only increases as she intensifies the moment.

I feel it inside before she does it. She pulls away from me, "I can't do this, Walt. I'm sorry," and she's gone.

I stare at the closed door, my empty office, and the pathetic truthfulness of my solitary life while the hardness between my legs fades just like the prospects of you liking me right about now.

The hollow sound of knuckles knocking on the door gives me temporary reprieve as Ruby enters without waiting for my reply.

"Walter, I have some requisition forms for you to sign." She places the papers on my desk and takes an unusual seat waiting for me to respond.

"Anything else?" I offer as I try to mask the bewilderment of the moment.

"I think so." She says. Matter of fact.

Circling back to hide behind the emotional camouflage and protection of my desk I sit and wait for her.

"Don't be a fool, Walter."

"Me a fool?" I say in my firmest most convincing voice.

She smiles past my facade. "You're acting like one."

Arrogantly, I look out toward the subtle dusk bestowing Durant, making the choice not to be angry at the truth.

"Look, Ruby, there's more to this than..."

She cuts me off, "Than what?" she's staring at me, her piercing blue eyes refusing to avert their undivided attention, "You two have been walking around each other for the past few years and it's about time you stopped and got a hold of yourselves. You're about to lose her and that, Walter, would be a mistake."

"It's too late."

"It's only too late if you make it too late."

There's nothing left to say so I don't .

"Now that I have minded your business I'm going to go mind mine." She walks out, closes the door, and leaves me to myself.

Forty-eight hours until Vic comes back to work, leaves me with 48 hours of obsessive thoughts that will never lead to a healthy outcome. I know that but it doesn't stop me from, well, obsessing. The only reasonable resolution is to let Vic go. It's manipulative, in that it is self-serving in its honor, but it is my only real option.

Walking into my office I feel worse than Pete Carroll, if that is at all possible, my poor decision-making with Vic will have far reaching life altering consequences just like Pete, both of us carrying on the long tradition of Trojan men putting our intellect and wit ahead of our instinct.

"Morning"

"Good morning, Walter."

I stop at Ruby's desk, pick up my stack of post-it's and stare just a little too long at the empty desks motioning over with a hand full of small yellow paper, "Running late?"

"No, she's not coming in today. She called in a sick day."

I look back at Ruby desperately trying to conceal the concern on my brow.

"Her first since she's been with us Walter. She didn't offer an explanation and I didn't ask." Her hands go flat, as she smoothes the paper on her desk all without looking at me.

What ensues is the quietest day in the history of Absaroka County. My thoughts aren't quiet to match the atmosphere and I surely wish they were.

The plastic bag hangs from my wrist, my head down, as I rap on her front door. I promised myself I would give it three knocks before leaving. Acting like a stalking interloper, I only decided to knock after I circled her block looking for Drew's truck. Figuring it was too big to fit in her garage I decided to take a chance. Between knock numbers two and three she answers wearing a tank top and jeans. She doesn't look sick and there are boxes everywhere.

"Really, Walt, a welfare check?"

"You've never called in sick. Thought I'd bring you some soup. It's canned but its soup just the same." She may not be sick but I'm feeling it for the both of us.

"It's not that kind of sick."

"Ah." That's the sick I feel, too.

"Come on in, Walt."

She turns back into the house and I follow through the threshold peeling off my hat as I stand in her entryway.

"Since you're here you might as well have a seat and make yourself comfortable." She says and I can't tell if she's pissed or disappointed but she's something.

That's impossible and I think she knows that.

I stay in place, "Looks like you've made up your mind about leaving." Scanning the boxes around her living room.

A bit lost, I unwrap the plastic bag that's twisted on my wrist and set it down on her coffee table.

"I got the soup. You might as well have it. I'll leave you be."

"Walt. Shut the fuck up."

I do.

"Why now?" She asks with a tinge of anger and confusion.

My eyebrows arch.

"Why now, Walt?"

"Can I speak?" my hand offers up the sarcasm to compliment my subdued tone.

"Don't be an asshole."

"Just following orders."

Her brown eyes nearly roll back inside of her skull.

"Since when do you ever follow orders from me?"

"All the time. Just don't think you notice."

"I notice." She's softer, her defenses down a tad, genuinely sounding remorseful. "Why now, Walt?" She asks, again.

I step closer eliminating the physical distance between us.

"I know there's something here, between us, I think I know what it is, although I never said it out loud to anyone. It's been here between us from the beginning. It's only gotten stronger and standing there in front of old Mazie's house I don't know, Vic, it just suddenly came flooding in."

"But why now, Walt?"

"The passage of time. It slips by us, it doesn't wait, it doesn't pause. It sure as hell doesn't give us a chance to go back. I've been living in the rearview mirror but I have the entire front window in front of me. I don't want any more time to pass without you being a part of my future."

She looks down like she's considering my words then back up her eyes more determined than ever.

"You said you don't love Drew but I don't want to get between you, Vic. I'm not that man." I feel the small faint smile come on my lips trying to hide my fear.

"I know you're not, Walt but you're not the man I want."

I nod acknowledging her but it's a reaction made by instinct only because I effectively have shut down as I become aware of the flush of my face and the pit in my stomach. If you have never felt it it really does feel like the floor drops from under your feet. A fast falling elevator crashing in the basement.

"Believe it or not Walt you're not the only good man in the state of Wyoming."

I turn and look up at the ceiling because I've made so many assumptions. I feel my lips quiver but I steady them before I speak.

"I understand, Vic." My hand drops to my side hitting my thigh. I look down avoiding her penetrating stare and I turn back toward her door. The few steps facing away from her allow me to recoup my senses.

"Do I even have a chance?" There's no hint of desperation in my voice there is just pain there. I can hear it just as I feel it as I say it.

"I don't know Walt." Her arms are crossed and the words flow, "I don't want a man who is so self-absorbed he can't find a permanent space for me. You're right about there being something between us. I've felt it from the beginning too but at this point, I don't think I want to go through all the suffering to even see what this is between us."

"Suffering?"

"Yeah, Walt, haven't you ever noticed how you make all the people who love you suffer?"

My hands grip my hips, my lips are pressed firm against each other, my mind rolls through and recalls more than a fair share of disappointed loved ones.

"It's not like we can fuck and leave it at that can we?" She says.

A simple and slight nod of my head suffices as her answer.

"That's what I thought."

"Do you feel anything for Drew?" My voice changes from cleverly disinterested to hard and judgmental with that one sentence.

"Why do you care?" At those words I turn to fully face her conscious of the distance I'm keeping between us.

Remember that moment I wanted and you wanted, too? It's here.

"Because I love you. I've loved you for a long time. That's the answer to any question you will ever have where I'm concerned." I don't wait for a reaction, for a defense or for her to possibly say the words back and I open her front door. I pass through the threshold, turn and look back lifting my head as I put my O'Farrell on square, "Just so you know, Vic, if I do have a chance, I'm gonna fight like hell for it."

I close the door behind me and don't think of going back. She's effectively made her choice and it's not me.


	6. Chapter 6

The highway is more desolate than usual and the blackness matches my mood.

"Walter, come in."

"Yeah, Ruby."

"You need to get to the station. There's someone here you need to talk to."

"Who is it Ruby?"

"Just come in."

I step it up, it's not like Ruby to be evasive but I'm evasive as I enter the station not quite sure who to expect with my long gun hanging along my side.

To my concern and surprise Drew Jackson is sitting on the bench just outside of the main office. Ruby walks out and hands him a cup of coffee while I take a seat next to him on the bench.

"Drew"

"I bet I'm the last person you expect to see." The ceramic coffee cup settles in his hand.

"Maybe not the last but you would be on the list."

"Walt, I think we have some talkin' to do where Vic is concerned."

I sit and wait because I'm wondering how he happened to be here at the station waiting for me.

"She told me."

"So you don't object to her lateralling to Rawlins?"

"It's not my preference that she leaves."

"You talking as the Sheriff or as a man?"

I lean forward, my elbows on my knees, my palms pressed together. I straighten my back and slap my thigh as I think of my response.

"Both"

"Well, Walt where does that leave us?"

"Vic is free to do as she pleases Drew. You should know that."

He smiles his beautiful smile.

"She is a pistol I will give you that but I don't think she wants to leave." His eyes squint like it's painful to say.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that Drew. She's packing now."

"How would you know that?"

"I just left her house and she made it clear."

"Interesting." His eyes look down toward his ropers then back up at me.

"What's interesting?"

"I was on my way up to see her, left late because we had a late arrest, and she called me said she didn't think she should leave because you didn't take it too well. So, I thought I would come and talk to you man-to-man."

My lips purse. I'm not sure I would do the same but it does tell me that he doesn't want to lose her. That is evident.

"There's nothing to talk about Drew. Like I told you she can go I don't have a hold on her."

"Except that you're in love with her."

My eyes study the bannister of the old library, "The same could be said of you, Drew."

"Yes, it could and it is."

"Then why are you here?"

"She doesn't love me back, Walt. I'm not crying about it I accepted it and honestly Walt I could live with it because Vic isn't the kind of woman you can so easily just let go. With time, I would hope she would love me. Shit, her deep like is better than a lot of other women's love but hell I'm cut from the same damn pain-in-the-ass cloth you're cut from and I finally asked her flat out if she was in love with you."

Our eyes meet.

"She didn't answer me, Walt."

"Drew listen…."

He raises his non-coffee hand, "Give me a second."

He takes a sip and says, "She didn't deny it either and I'm old enough to know that I can't hold her. I'll just make her resent me in the end and I've known you since we were kids I couldn't lose her to a better man."

"She's not a prize, Drew."

He smiles at me and it spreads because he knows the joke is on me.

"Like hell she's not."

Drew stands up, stretches his thin frame a little taller and I meet him inch for inch. His hand is open, fingers splayed, and I take it.

"Take care of her you sonofabitch cause if you don't I'll kick your ass."

"That will be the day."

He puts his Resistol back on square and he looks more like Sam Shepard than ever before.

"You should know that she will always have a safe place to land with me."

I nod and Drew turns and makes his way down the stairs his long legs capturing the steps with ease.

I sit back down on the bench trying to reconcile my thoughts and my feelings not prepared to go through the door of the office to face Ruby and provide explanations.

Just as I ready to go back in Vic rumbles in looking ready to fight clad in her tank, jeans and leather jacket.

"You just can't say something like that and walk out." She is determined.

"Now's not the time, Vic." I turn to go back into my office and her words echo in my spirit. I stop, knowing this is it, there's no going back. I pull her against the door, the frosted glass creating a shadow of her profile, trap her against the door.

Our bodies are close, the heat penetrating and intensified by the close space, my arms blocking her path and they spread on either side of her.

"You're right about a lot of things, Vic. I can be insufferable. I can be self-absorbed, its true but I never want those that I love to suffer because of me, never. I don't want you to suffer, ever, but right now that's exactly what I'm doing."

"Oh, Walt" The genuineness of her remorse is palpable.

I press my finger to her lips. "Shhh." Our eyes are connected, "Don't apologize. Just listen."

My finger falls to the hollow of her neck, "I want the fact that you are here to mean I have a chance and if that's true I need you to stay. Stay here by my side. Can you do that?"

Her eyes grow larger, her mood distinctively shifts, she moves from the wall and presses her body against mine. It's an affirmation not an advance.

"Yes."

My arms drop and I lean down and ever so slightly kiss her lips.

"Ok, then."

I feel her fingers brush the side of my face as she says, "ok."

"Why now, Vic?"

"What?"

"You asked me now I'm asking you, why now?"

"Because I love you, even when I don't want too."

"Even though I'm not the man you want."

"You aren't. You are the man I deserve"

My head turns to the side like a dog with a question.

"If you haven't noticed I gotta a shit load of hang-ups." She smiles and says, "and so do you."

My head straightens with understanding.

"I wanted plain vanilla without complications and that's sure as shit not you."

I nod

My fingers find the back of her neck and I hold her like I wanted to so long ago in the hospital after getting a set of stitches from Chance's gunshot wound. Our mouths find each other and what ensues is soft, sensual, and velvety.

I don't know where this will lead and I don't know if my heart will be in tact when it's all done but she's right, we deserve each other, and that makes me one lucky son-of-a-gun.

* * *

_**I had two free days from work and knocked this story out. I don't anticipate having this much freedom for the next couple of months so please don't expect an update or another story for a while. Just thought I would put it out there and I hope you enjoyed this fic. I cherish your feedback and as always...#LongLiveLongmire **_


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